


Look Back

by nagi71



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: F/M, Mostly non romantic tbh, Mukuro's POV, TYE~TYL, could be, not necessarily romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 20:23:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19158319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi71/pseuds/nagi71
Summary: “I think this world is beautiful.”Naive, innocent words, but they were pure things without lies. She was a peculiar one, where the creation of illusions and all things fake came to her like second nature, yet the words she spun were always the truth.- - -I think it's a birthday fic without a mention of a birthday, but really it's me going back to khr and crying at how much I love(d) it





	Look Back

**Author's Note:**

> I realized it's Mukuro's birthday yesterday and thought, why not.  
> Chrome has been my baby for as long as I can remember I can't pass this without a word.

A pitiful child.

No matter who you are, that would be the first impression one would get from this girl named Nagi, now Chrome Dokuro.

It wasn’t simply that she was from a broken family with a dead father and a mother who didn’t love her. It wasn’t that even after a remarriage for monetary value, she was unloved and forgotten. Nor was it how they refused to save her life, all the while she listened in and never once tried to grab hold onto life.

Those were things common in the world. That alone couldn’t make her ‘pitiable’ to all types of people in the world. That wasn’t enough to make _him_ think she was pitiable for a split second.

Maybe it was how she never once got angry. It was either stupidity or naivety, learned through a life of confinement of the physical and mental. Her soul was unsullied, still much like a child that didn’t absorb the world yet and was in a repetition phase, taking things with an attitude of pure interest and disinterest.

Or, it was the big round eyes and the way she held herself, not a single one speaking of confidence, a lack of pride, simply a soul that rests and follows whatever pushes and pulls. Probably, that’s why she took his hand.

She was still a white canvas, easy to taint and easy to paint, with any colour he wishes for, any skill he wants her to hone. Better yet, she was determined and innately perceptive, a tongue that sits still in her mouth but a mind that easily imagines what others cannot, thinking up a reality that’s hers and hers alone.

It was rather… _Intriguing_ , to watch his values turned to something much too soft.

He laughed.

 

\- - -

 

Days became weeks, and weeks turned to months.

Teaching a disciple who easily absorbed knowledge and showed results was a satisfying feeling.

Watching as she, who once did nothing but calmly sit or conjure a cat to pet and giggle as they tickled her with its tiny tongue, create deathly pillars of burning flames and thrust ruthless, fatal pierces through shadows of a man. It brought both a sense of discomfort but a higher sense of pride.

By the time she was done, he was next to her, in front of her, reaching out to pat the top of her head, and sometimes whisper simple nothings in encouragement, but she always looked a little miffed, as much as that mild expression of hers could get. He tries to tease her, with nothing to do but be here and as her company, to try and dig every part of her out for him to see and learn.

“Are you teasing me?” Sometimes she would notice right away, looking up with a very light crease between her brows, eyes wide and yet trusting. Trusting- no matter if he touched her cheek or curled his fingers through her hair, even if he were to slowly slide the end of his fingers down to her throat, she simply stood still in curiosity, not fear.

It was odd, especially because he knew she wasn’t fearless.

He would chuckle and put his palm to the top of her head, slide it down to the side of her face and lean down to place his forehead against hers. She didn’t blush as much anymore, at least not in embarrassment for his affectionate gestures. Apparently, her little crush was gone the moment she realized it was a fickle thing compared to what she could get otherwise, and he knew then, that he made the right choice in picking her.

A soul of the same wavelength— that was easy to speak of, not easy to find.

 

\- - -

 

They frequently met in a dream.

It was the only place they could meet since he was trapped in a prison cell, body chained and immobile, floating in complete submersion.

Most times, he entered her dreams. Sometimes, he created their little field of pretty nothings that felt like the epitome of peace; Green, trimmed grass, a wide lake clear as a mirror, and endless beds of flowers. Occasionally, ever-so-discreetly, he invites her into his own world.

No matter the place, she would stand, sit, walk or pause, seeming unconcerned of her surroundings but him. She would speak if he did, sometimes deliberately tries to open conversation, attempting to lead with questions and discoveries of the world she now lived. He sometimes finds himself irritated by it, but most of the time, it brings peace to his mind. Always, he will speak slow and steady, voice low yet clear, sure he never changed his tone no matter his internal fatigue at the time.

Yet, she seemed to understand and go silent when he was feeling displeased, continuing when he was interested, referring to the two boys living with her when he felt nostalgic. There should be nothing for her to pick up, but somehow she does, and he wonders what it was.

_A girl’s intuition?_

Even now, as she sits on the ground weaving flowers the way he has taught her once, childishly small but elegantly long fingers working the stems around each other, short nails snipping away the access mercilessly. He grows curious, out of boredom or whatever it is that grows in one’s head from confinement. So, he stands beside her, asking.

What do you think of this world?

First, there was surprise. Always, as if she were a scripted projection, she would widen her lone, purple eye, lips parting ever so slightly and closing, thin and soft looking as she rubs them together in a light purse, but never a pout.

A soft blush would dust her cheeks, brows lifted in shared comfort and eye soft in a way she never shows in the real world. There’s a slight tilt on the ends of her lips upwards as she stares aside, thinking before she glances up at him. Her head tilted sideways, letting her rich, dark hair to spill over her very small shoulders.

“ _I think this world is beautiful._ ”

Naive, innocent words, but they were pure things without lies. She was a peculiar one, where the creation of illusions and all things fake came to her like second nature, yet the words she spun were always the truth.

In one way, you could call her _grotesque_.

A being that did not fit in with her surroundings, a complete dislocation of something that seemed to represent light, standing in between things and people that represented the dark. In her head, would be his looming presence, creating a shadow hovering over her existence, hiding her from the world she lived in.

As long as she was his in the eyes of others, her being would be all that- **_his_**. The pawn owned by Rokudo Mukuro; the weak, fragile, _brittle_ little girl who simply had the ability to give him access to the outside world and free his spirit.

If only they knew, she held deep in herself her own accumulation of darkness.

At least, one that was powerful enough to call his blood-soaked dream ‘ _beautiful_ ’.

 

\- - -

 

A woman, he finally decided to call her.

Existing between light and dark, she tip-toed her way around the sparkling horizon of twilight, swinging her weapon with grace, with innocent smiles but coy legs that cross in sitting, baring intent both deadly and terribly sweet. She was brilliant, in all shine, skill and knowledge.

He was no longer the only figure in her life.

There were plenty of people, starting from the boy with fluffy brown hair, a child with bombs and a strong yet weak heart, another child, an idiot in disguise, a truly loud idiot, a quiet skylark, and girls her age that taught her compassion and care.

With his body back and years of bringing it back to health, he didn’t see a problem with that. Not after he had let her go.

Yet, she still stuck to him, and maybe not physically, but spiritually.

At times, she appeared with no apparent reason, the same way he walked into their shared dreams for no reason but to do something other than sleeping and counting his way down to insanity in that cell. They occasionally spoke, sometimes they simply sat there, doing their own thing or doing nothing at all. It was a comfortable silence, one they had gotten used to in the many months of being in each other’s minds.

There was no way one could let go of a part of them that soon.

So, he let her take her time, and he took his own. After all, be it the grand master of all things spiritual and evil- or so some liked to call him, even he was human, and it was an innate trait to form habits. He enjoyed it, more than he was willing to tell anyone but the girl who seemed pleased to simply be there.

Maybe he needed some growing up as well.

 

\- - -

 

How had he changed?

A lone journey towards salvation was his goal, to destroy the mafia and all impurities that the world holds, to create a place where he believed and knew was the pinnacle of his achievements.

That was crushed, and he built up again, with years to spare and in no hurry or rush, deciding to sit back and watch for a while as well, spectating the changes that the naïve ones brought and implemented throughout the world. That power was what he wanted, that position earned through blood and little to do with skill, although the backing provided him with enough to grow.

Yet, here he is, sitting in a room waiting for night to come, his next plan starting at approximately 3 hours later.

What he needed was sleep, to rest his mind before they leave. But even as he laid there with closed eyes, all he could hear was the ticking of a non-existent clock, up until he opens them, perched elbows lifting his torso up ever so gently, refusing to make any noise or make any sudden movements.

Beside him, long purple hair curled like brushstrokes painted along the white sheets of the bed, a pale, small hand up beside her small face, palm up and fingers lightly curled. Her thin lips were relaxed as her whole body, covered up to her bare shoulders was the blanket she salvaged before they finally laid down to rest. Even as he watched, her long lashes trembled once, twice, shifting in her sleep.

Ah, what _had_ he gotten himself into?


End file.
